It's Only Love
by Shalla Bal
Summary: Sequel to my story "This Trouble is Ours." "I love him. I'm going after him. I'm going to save him." So Charlie vows when Monroe is taken by the Patriots, but when he is brainwashed and turned against her, how far will she go to fulfill her promise? Charloe! I do not own Revolution or these characters. Thanks to all reviewers! I'll be writing more Charloe fic soon :)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Charlie frowned as the pack of malevolent looking Patriot soldiers drew closer to where she stood with Bass, Miles, and Rachel outside of her grandfather's house. She could feel the heat of Monroe's eyes on her as his body tensed, wanting to protect her.

"I'll go warn everyone in town," Gene announced, appearing in the front door before running off in the opposite direction. Those in Willoughby who, like them, opposed the Patriots, would need the heads-up to prepare defensive strategies or hide evidence of their true allegiances. The others, the townsfolk who were either brainwashed or intimidated by the Patriots, would want to know so that they could get ready to bow to the bastards' every whim. It sickened Charlie, who was still haunted by the memory of what the Patriots had done to Jason. What she'd had to do to Jason _because_ of it. She shuddered.

"We've got this, Charlie," Monroe murmured in her ear, stabilizing her frenetic nerves.

"I know," she smiled at him, confidence relighting her features, seizing every scant opportunity to inject humor and the strength of her convictions into the unrelenting darkness of these times.

"Can we help you?" Miles asked as the Patriot captain stopped his horse right in front of them. His hand resting confidently on the sword at his side, Charlie knew Miles' pretense of friendly compliance was a thin, sarcastic veneer.

"We came in to see if there were any young people who might like to join up for the _cause_," the captain explained, an insincere, manipulative smile distorting his face, which resembled a plastic mask.

"Some of your young folks might not have been aware of the many opportunities we offer among our ranks," the captain continued, his eyes landing on Charlie. "Young lady, _you_ seem like a prime candidate."

"No thank you," Charlie snapped as Monroe said "Forget about it" in unison.

"Hmm," the captain said, laughing and glancing back at his cohorts. "I guess maybe I need to clarify our stance on the matter. We're not asking."

As the troops leaped from their horses and tried to grab Charlie, she flailed back, yanking a knife from where it was strapped to her leg and launching into warrior mode, kicking, slashing, and punching her way through three Patriots as Bass and Miles applied their own skills to the others. Finally, however, the captain caught hold of Rachel and held a blade to her throat.

His eyes scanning the ground, where most of his men lay slain or maimed, the captain sized Charlie up, continuing to smile despite all that had just transpired. "I'd say you probably don't want me to kill her. She's most likely your Mom, huh?"

"Let her go," Charlie insisted, hyperaware of Bass and Miles standing at the ready to snatch Rachel away and kill this son of a bitch if given the slightest opening.

"I'll trade you," the captain suggested, his wicked eyes twinkling as he enjoyed this psychological torture. "You come with us, little lady. And we let this one -" he pawed at Rachel's blonde hair in a repulsive manner - "go."

"Fine," Charlie said, stepping forward without a second thought. Whatever. She couldn't let them hurt her mother, and once they got to whatever creepy training camp they were heading for, she would have to find a way to escape before they turned her into a zombie.

"No," Monroe said suddenly, taking Charlie's arm and then moving in front of her. "Leave them alone. Take me instead."

"Bass-" Charlie objected in surprise, begging him in the one word not to do what he was about to.

"I'm Sebastian Monroe," he revealed fearlessly. "Leave the girl alone and let her mother go. I'll trade myself in their stead. Wouldn't you like to end the threat of the Monroe Militia for good?"

"Well, we don't exactly _fear_ you, given the fact that your so-called 'Militia' doesn't really even exist anymore. But, you are a valuable catch. We would like to show our fellow Americans what happens when rebels step out of line...especially prominent rebels who once had power in these parts. We'll take you to our most..._impressive _training camp and show the new recruits what we're really capable of, what we can destroy in a heartbeat." With that speech, the captain released Rachel, who rubbed her neck and glanced around as if startled by the speed of Monroe's sacrifice.

"You can't go with them," Charlie gasped, grabbing Bass' arm and locking gazes with him. "They'll kill you, Monroe."

Bass leaned down and kissed her passionately, epically, bittersweetly...like it was the last time. Tears stung Charlie's eyes and she shook her head as he pulled away, his hands rapidly bound by the Patriots.

"I don't want to leave you, Charlotte," Monroe told her, and it felt like they were the only two standing there for a moment, isolated by the strength and desperation of this seemingly doomed love they shared. "But this is the only way."

Right up until the last second it was humanly possible, as the Patriots rode away with him in tow, his horse bound to that of one of the soldiers, Bass kept his electric blue gaze on Charlie.

When they were gone, Miles spoke into the silence, "Well, that was weird."

Charlie turned all at once to Miles and said simply, wiping her tears away in frustration, "Let's go." She was entirely deadpan in her assumption that he would comply.

"Charlie," Rachel began, speaking to her daughter for the first time in days, breaking her vow not to do so until Charlie ended her relationship with Monroe.

"Don't," Charlie retorted. "I'm going. Miles, come with me. He'd do the same for you. He _has_ done it for you."

"It's a suicide mission," Rachel objected, "they'll get you, Charlie, and brainwash you like they-"

Charlie didn't want to hear Jason's name right now, or think about the risk that she might become _like him_ if she fell into the Patriots' clutches. The truth was, what did it matter? There was nothing she wouldn't risk to save Monroe.

"I don't know what it's going to take to get you to understand or respect this, Mom, but I love him. I'm going after him. I'm going to save him." Charlie mounted her horse resolutely and nodded to Miles, who was warmly embracing Rachel in farewell, indicating his decision to join in the rescue. She'd known that deep down, Miles' friendship with Monroe was too fiercely true to allow her uncle much hesitation in going with her...plus, he'd want to ensure Charlie's safety as well.

"Can't we ever just _relax_?" Miles complained as they rode away, leaving a stunned and worried Rachel behind.

"Miles, when have you ever relaxed?" Charlie replied drily, her schtick with Miles knee-jerk and unrelated to her panicked inner state. As she settled into this new mission, Charlie began obsessing over possible approaches to extracting Monroe from whatever awful situation he might be in when they got to him. They knew the location of the largest, most frankly horrifying camp of Patriot recruits in the area, and that's where they were headed.

Bass had given himself up to save Charlie, and to save Rachel, too, showing (just as Charlie had originally suspected after she'd heard Connor's tale of how quick he'd been to sacrifice his life for his son's) that he was changing, he could be selfless, even heroic. But especially when it came to her, Charlie feared he was all too willing to die for the cause without a second thought. She had to stop that from happening, no matter what.

Charlie hadn't found her happiness just to have it ripped from her so quickly and cruelly. As she and Miles rode on into the hazy sunset, she let love and anger fuel her equally. The Patriots should be afraid. Because there was not one of them she would hesitate to destroy if they stood between her and Monroe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Charlie and Miles arrived at the training camp, they quickly learned they were not alone. That was because Tom Neville had a rifle pressed against Charlie's back soon after she and Miles had stopped on the hill above the camp to survey its set-up. Miles dropped his binoculars to one side with a sigh.

"Hi, Tom," he said briskly, reaching over to smack the gun down and away from Charlie.

"Oh, _hi_, Miles," Tom replied with his trademark joker's smile, but it was full of extra venom because Charlie was present. He still blamed her for Jason's death.

"I hope you don't think I'd hesitate to take both of you out if your purposes here conflict with my own. I already have quite an itch to rid the world of Miss Matheson here."

"Why are you here?" Charlie asked, spinning on him and crossing her arms impatiently. They didn't have time for this.

"Because for some ungodly reason, my wife is being held in this camp. And so is Monroe. This is right after those Patriot asshats told me they were calling off our deal for me to kill Monroe in exchange for my wife's safety. Now I just have to take her back without all the other stuff. Probably how I should've started out, really."

"Well, ironically enough, we do have something in common," Miles pointed out. "We're on a rescue mission, too. For Monroe."

"Monroe?" Tom laughed acidly. "Good luck with that. It's not the guards or the recruits that will stop you, either. I highly doubt he'll be willing to leave with you." He chuckled heartily, pleased by the impossibility of their conundrum. "I've been here for a couple hours watching this place, and -"

"What do you know that we don't?" Charlie demanded, stepping forward and glaring intensely at Neville. He was in her way, and she'd set out bound and determined to knock anyone right out of it when the time came.

"Why do you care so much, Charlie?" Tom asked, confused curiosity evident in his face as the wheels started to turn in his head. "I can understand Miles' eagerness to save his _girlfriend_-"

"Screw you," Miles spat out grumpily.

"And even why you would help him, because you're basically Miles' little female mini-me slave. But why the _emotions_? Why the desperation?" Tom examined Charlie's face analytically before bursting into his widest wicked grin and loudest burst of laughter yet.

"You wanna pipe down?" Miles asked. "I'm pretty sure they can hear us back in Willoughby."

"There's some kind of -" Tom couldn't stop laughing; he even slapped his knee in jollification. "some kind of...romance...between you - and - Monroe!"

Charlie was not amused. "That's none of your business. We have other matters to discuss."

"But wait, wait...I just want to see if I've got this right. You, Charlie, and...Bass Monroe - in. love." Tom's laughs finally tapered off and he sat down on the hill, weary from the exertion. "Miles, here's the best part: she beat you. You and Rachel aren't twisted at all by comparison."

"Look, Tom," Miles cut to the chase, "We both need to get in there and rescue our people. We may as well work together."

"Oh, fine," Tom agreed. "You know what, as a matter of fact, I'm in. I could use the help, and it'll be satisfying to watch you try and deal with what you find down there. Let's go."

Wondering what he could possibly mean with his insinuations about Monroe, but not trusting him in the slightest and eager to stop talking, Charlie got moving as the three of them worked out a plan to slip into the camp. They quietly took out a few guards, aided by the darkness of the night and the element of surprise. The recruits were all sleeping the heavy sleep of the forcibly warped.

Tom beckoned them over to a certain tent. "Your boy's in there. I'm going to get Julia. After you fail miserably, if you don't die, I'll see you on the other side...maybe, if I don't kill you myself first."

"Thanks a lot," Miles whispered drily. "Come on, Charlie."

They peered into the tent, which was pitch black. Charlie stepped in cautiously and saw Monroe sleeping peacefully on a cot, looking perfectly normal aside from the setting and the bruises and cuts that covered him, making her stomach turn with anger.

"Bass?" she sat on the side of his cot and murmured, leaning down to look at him more closely.

His eyes fluttered open and he pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking at her slowly, a bit disoriented.

Overwhelmed with relief that he was safe, Charlie kissed him, and he responded with enthusiasm. "Well, hell-o," he grinned when their lips parted. "Just who might you be? Never mind, I don't care. Come here." He reached for her once more, but Charlie drew back, shocked.

"What?"

"Bass," Miles spoke up, moving forward, "What's going on?"

"Who in the hell are _you_?" Monroe asked. "Look, this is not that kinda party. She can stay, but you have to go. Now."

"What did they do?" Charlie wondered aloud, glancing at Miles.

"Either they brainwashed him and wiped his memories, or he has amnesia from being knocked around," Miles theorized as Charlie peered into Monroe's face, examining him carefully.

"Miles," she gasped, lightly drawing one of Monroe's eyelids down to reveal a series of numbers. Oh, God. No, not this.

"Dammit! Bass, you really don't remember anything?" Miles asked, frustrated.

"I remember plenty," Monroe explained, rising to grab a shirt and slip it on. "I'm the commanding officer of this outfit, and I train recruits for these United States. I remember my whole life up until this moment. I know exactly who I am. I've just never laid eyes on either one of you crazies before. You look like rebels to me. I'm going to have you interrogated."

"Well, by way of introduction, I'm Miles Matheson, and you and I are...let's go with 'friends' - and have been for years. And this is my niece, Charlie Matheson, who is also...well, you two feel strongly about one another, much to my aggravation."

"_What_?" Monroe asked, "What did you say your names were?"

"We don't have time to debate who you really are or how you know us," Charlie told him. "We have to get you out of here. Bass, you've been brainwashed by the Patriots. Don't believe anything they told you."

"They didn't tell me anything," Monroe said, "_I'm_ the one giving orders around here. And if there's one thing I know to be my number one mission, it's killing anything that walks with the name Matheson."

"You've gotta be kidding-" Miles started, but broke off once Monroe lunged at him and the two of them battled it out, Miles trying to avoid the fight or hurting Bass as much as he could while defending himself. Meanwhile, Tom's head popped into the tent.

"Ah, I expected as much," he quipped, and pulled the tent back to reveal Julia standing by his side, looking eager to make their exit.

"You see," Tom continued as Monroe and Miles grappled, "The Patriots have turned Monroe here into their number one killing machine. From what I could glean, they seem to be trying out a new variation of their Manchurian Candidate initiative. I'm guessing Bass has been hardwired to take out any enemies of the state with vicious efficiency."

"They didn't want him to kill him," Charlie mumbled, putting the pieces together. They'd wanted Monroe to make the ultimate example of - to turn him into their murderous pawn, robbing him of his identity and making him annihilate his own friends and allies.

"Miles, look out!" she shouted as Monroe moved, unquestionably, to snap his neck. She ran forward and kicked Bass back, but he was up again as fast as lightning and shoved her aside as if she were a rag doll.

"If I were you two, I'd give up," Tom advised. "It's been real, but Julia and I have places to go," he said and disappeared with his wife.

Charlie saw what they had to do, even though she hated it. Someone had already spoken those numbers on Bass' eyelid, and awakened a beast of their own creation. As long as he was held under that thrall, Monroe wouldn't rest until she and Miles - and any other rebel fugitives - were dead. Feeling her heart break with the pain of this realization and the uncertainty of how he could ever be reawakened to himself, Charlie grabbed a nearby candle holder and bashed it over Monroe's head. He stared at her with a flash of something that looked like recognition for just one second before he passed out.

As Miles helped her drag Bass through the camp and past the remaining guards who had been subdued by Tom during his and Julia's escape, Charlie considered this very carefully. She knew that in that moment before he lost consciousness, Monroe had truly seen her, had known her for who she was. There was a tiny softening of his expression that haunted her in retrospect. They had no choice but to rebind his wrists and heave him onto Charlie's horse before they fled. Despite the bleakness of this problem, Charlie refused to give up hope.

Somewhere, deep down, Bass Monroe, the real one, was still alive. And Charlie was going to find a way to reverse this. She even knew exactly where to start.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Two weeks passed, most of which Charlie spent going after specific Patriots she knew to be affiliated with the recruiting program and its mind-bending tactics. Finally, she'd fought, threatened, manipulated, and cajoled her way to some actual secrets on the matter. One solider had indicated that what the Patriots didn't want anyone to know was that the changes to the subjects' memories, beliefs, knowledge, _and_ their malleability to Patriot commands were all temporary. The procedure had to be repeated every so often to prevent the recruits' original, true mindsets from reemerging. What she couldn't find out, no matter how many inadvertent or unwilling informants she questioned, was how long it would take for Monroe to revert to normalcy.

In the meantime, he'd been held, bound and feisty, back in Willoughby, carefully watched by Miles, Rachel, and Gene to make sure he didn't get lose and visit terror on any rebels that might be holed up in town. Whenever she stopped home between information scouting trips, Charlie was increasingly surprised to see the efforts Rachel was applying to help her keep all of this together. Her mother kept Monroe secure and nourished, never giving into any urges she might have to retaliate as he constantly berated her. Charlie had to wonder if Bass' self-sacrifice had made an actual dent in Rachel's previously immutable hatred of him, her long-held belief that he was simply evil and could not change.

Drained from another day lived in this manner, Charlie arrived home one evening to find her family gathered in the kitchen. They looked up to see her disheveled, worn, but committed as ever. Rachel gave Charlie a hug and sat her down with a bowl of soup. Miles shook his head, saying, "I wish you'd let me come with you, Charlie. I could help."

"We need you here to help keep Monroe from getting out," Charlie replied. "And I'm fine. But thanks."

A pause followed before she asked, "how was he today?"

"The same," Rachel piped up. "He tried to cut my throat at breakfast with a fork."

"That's what we get for letting him have his own silverware," Miles observed wryly.

"I had to crack him over the head with a vase," Gene explained with a wan, half-proud, half-apologetic smile.

"I don't know what we're going to run out of first," Charlie mused, "blunt objects, or Monroe's ability to keep getting hit in the head without brain damage."

"Surprised we haven't knocked sense back into him yet," Miles said.

"I wish it was that easy," Charlie replied. She visited him as often as possible, but Monroe hadn't shown any further signs of recognizing her. He continually threatened, insulted, and tried to grab at Charlie violently whenever he could loosen his restraints or try to hoodwink her in any way. But even though somewhere inside him lived the man she loved, one had to get up fairly early in the morning to achieve that last feat with Charlie.

"I'm gonna go see him," Charlie announced, standing back from the table. "Mom, I'm sorry about this morning. And thank you for your help...with him." Rachel nodded with a quiet demeanor indicative of respect for the immensity of what her daughter was going through.

Charlie pushed the door of her room open and found him in the bath, his wrists firmly bound on either side of the tub.

"So you people finally remembered I'm in here," Monroe greeted her. "A little help? Please?"

Even though he was putting on an act of semi-politeness and neediness to try and trick her into dropping her guard enough for him to attack somehow, and she knew it, the sight of him naked, wet, and looking at her still took her breath away. She concealed the sensation as best as she could, approaching to release his restraints while keeping her knife wielded warningly.

As he quickly pulled his pants on, Charlie turned her eyes away for a second, intimidated again by her incontrovertible attraction, how much she wanted to grab him and throw him on the bed despite it all. That gave Bass a window that he used to knee her head over heels into the bath, but she shot back up again too quickly for him to be able to hold her under the water as he'd doubtless intended. She lurched forward and kneed _him_ to the stomach, urging him back onto the bed with the knife.

"God, you Mathesons are a rascally bunch of rebel heathens," Monroe complained raggedly, using Patriot language and sounding completely alien. "I can't wait to kill you all for this."

"Is that so?" Charlie inquired, inspiration striking. She decided to try a new approach to possibly stir his real memories up. Placing the knife between her teeth, she retied his hands behind his back and climbed onto his lap as he sat on the bed. Facing him steadily, she took the knife from her mouth and held it to one side. Her thighs locked around him snugly, Charlie raised one eyebrow as his body responded precisely as she'd expected it to.

"What are you doing?" Monroe asked huskily, confused within the haze of his false persona as his own body betrayed him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Charlie replied, pressing one hand against his still-damp chest and then letting it travel up to his head, where she ran her fingers through his hair and leaned in to lightly kiss his mouth.

"Stop it," Bass requested, not seeming particularly sincere. His lips had pressed instinctively to hers, even as he then murmured into her mouth, "I'll kill you."

"Are you sure?" Charlie teased. She stood up and began to remove her wet clothes, standing before him in her underthings as his eyes raked over her.

"Look," Monroe said, rising from the bed and coming over to her, "I'll admit, you're a gorgeous woman. I find you extremely attractive. And I'm disgusted with myself for that. Don't expect me to let you fool me into going along with some rebel agenda. There'll be no seduction here."

"Sorry to hear it," Charlie demurred, sliding on a pair of dry pants. Monroe came closer still, leaning down so close that she could feel his beard scrape lightly against her ear.

"You're pathetic," he told her spitefully.

"Why's that?" Charlie asked, smirking and crossing her arms as she stood there in her bra.

"For whatever reason, you've convinced yourself that I'm this _other guy _you used to know. I don't know if I _look_ like him or whatever, or why you don't care that my name is different and I'm _not him,_ but it's sad and repulsive that you're trying to turn me into him."

"The man I loved...the man I _love_...his name's Sebastian Monroe," Charlie answered without hesitation. She raised her light blue eyes to his angry, bitter, begrudgingly conflicted gaze. "You're him. You just don't realize it. But..." She kissed his lips again, unafraid of consequence and incapable of resisting the urge even now. "You will."

"I guess you must really be into the whole 'bad boy' thing, huh?" Monroe laughed, stepping back as if he was afraid of what he might surrender to if he stayed so close.

"Don't you know that's a good way to get yourself burned, Charlotte?"

Charlie's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

"Get out of here," Bass ordered petulantly. "I can't stand to look at you. Filthy rebel bitch. Maybe I can't kill you now, but tomorrow...well, you know what they say. That's another day."

Instead of expressing the least modicum of grief at his cruel, dismissive words, Charlie grinned and went about tying him to a chair, binding him at the ankles as well.

"What are you smiling about?" Monroe demanded as she pulled on a shirt and audaciously winked at him on her way out.

"What am I smiling about?" Charlie repeated cheerfully, regarding his handsome, deluded face affectionately. "You called me Charlotte."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Charlie's eyes flew open at the sound of Monroe's cry in the dead of night. She'd never let on to him, but on those nights when she slept at home, she inevitably ended up camped outside his door, her back against the wall that separated them, listening. Waiting. Hoping. The moment would come when the Patriot's mind-trickery would wear away and be replaced by reality. Charlie didn't want to miss it.

She pushed the door open a little, tentatively. He was asleep, tossing feverishly, apparently in the throes of a nightmare. Gathering a cloth and dipping it in cool water, She climbed up beside him on the bed and dabbed his forehead. Monroe stopped short and his body relaxed, his arms stretched taunt by the bindings of his wrists to the headboard. He opened his eyes and squinted at her. "What are you doing here?"

"What you'd do for me if the tables were turned," she said with a melancholy smile, letting her hand rest on his chest, feeling his heart hammering there, relentless though he seemed physically relieved of his tumult. "What were you dreaming about?"

"I can't remember," he said disingenuously, averting his eyes from hers.

"Hey," she remarked, gently touching his cheek and turning his gaze back over. "You can tell me."

"I could. But I don't share secrets with rebels. Especially secrets from my subconscious. You understand." His sarcasm, his crude dismissal of her, were back in full force, though the sadness in his eyes could not go unnoticed.

"I do," Charlie murmured, adjusting the blankets around him and sliding down from the bed. Maybe tomorrow would be the day.

Just then, the unmistakable sounds of a sudden scuffle breaking out in the kitchen caught Charlie's ears. She went charging out to find Miles embroiled in battle with two Patriots, who were quickly dispatched by his sword. However, that was revealed to be a distraction tactic when she noted the sounds coming from the room where Monroe was. _The window._

"Miles!" Charlie shouted, running back to Bass' quarters. Everything seemed to go into slow motion then. She panicked. She couldn't get there fast enough though it was only a few steps. If they got hold of Monroe again...the consequences were too horrible to fully consider. She and Miles found Monroe untied and standing shoulder to shoulder with two more Patriots, and all three of them held rifles trained on them.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked, stepping up behind Miles and Charlie. Gene soon appeared by her side.

"Get back, both of you," Miles ordered automatically.

"Well, well, well," Monroe drawled. Charlie rolled her eyes. Even in this moment, with her life and Miles' hanging precipitously in the balance and Bass taken over by a false identity, _everything _Monroe said and did was so magnetic, so hypnotizing. Their eyes met. Did she notice a flare of something different in his look then? Instead of simple aggression and bloodlust, there was a slight indication of conflict, of confusion. She could use that.

"You don't want to shoot us," Charlie stated bluntly. "So bother with this act?"

"_Act_?" one of the Patriots laughed harshly, crossing the room to grab Charlie's arm roughly and bring her to the center, between Monroe and Miles.

"Wait!" Miles shouted, clearly trying to strategize a way out of this. "She's too valuable to you."

"Maybe the extent to which I need to prove a point about what we can_ do_ to our subjects, the strength of our influence...well, that outweighs the value of one more recruit. Even if she is a rebel, and a pretty little heathen at that." The Patriot held Charlie's arm so tightly she could feel her circulation choke off and bruises form. She glanced at Monroe and saw him swallow hard, his jaw tight.

"Are you going to let them kill me?" She asked simply, looking at Monroe as if they were the only two present.

"Of course he is," the other Patriot snarled, "Because he's _ours_."

A deafening boom split the air as Monroe's rifle fired. Charlie looked up in shock to see the Patriot who'd flanked Bass laid bloody and quite dead on the floor.

"Or, not," Monroe deadpanned, shooting the Patriot who held Charlie with such vicious and precise force through the head that he was thrown back, his unrelenting grip on her arm causing her to go flying across the floor with him. It all happened in lightning fast seconds. Charlie's assailant never even had a chance to react when his cohort was killed.

She sat up, prying those still-warm, lifeless fingers from her flesh and letting her eyes revert to where Monroe stood, Miles now beside him, the smoking gun casually hanging from Bass' hand.

"Bass? Is it you?" Charlie asked, sweet, potent hope filling her heart like a balloon.

"Hello, Charlotte," Monroe replied with exquisite simplicity.

Those had been his first words to her, and it was a greeting that had come to symbolize the instant, indestructible bond that had been forged between them against every conceivable odd.

She was in his arms within another heartbeat, hearing the gun clatter to the floor as his head descended into the crook of her head and neck, his grip on her body hot and tight, needy, grateful.

Once the dead Patriots had been dealt with, it fell upon them all to discuss what had happened and what it meant.

"Now that we know the brainwashing is temporary, that the original person is still in there somewhere, retrievably..." Rachel pondered the matter. "This changes everything. We can't go around killing recruits anymore. That's not up for debate," she warned, looking pointedly at Monroe.

"I couldn't agree more," Bass said, tossing back a shot of whiskey and meeting her eyes without guile.

"Oh, don't be a suck-up," Miles complained, punching Monroe in the shoulder lightly. Charlie couldn't help smiling. The friendship between those two was unstoppable despite all Miles' attempts to reject it.

"I'm serious, Miles," Bass explained. "After what I went through - after what those bastards put _Charlie _through - I have a rather intimate set of feelings on the topic. And one thing's for sure. We have to stop this recruitment program in its tracks. We need a plan."

"You want to _help_ the other recruits?" Rachel inquired, looking numb with disbelief.

"I know how I acted about them before," Monroe admitted, glancing down at the table ruefully. "I'm sorry."

Charlie could tell that Rachel actually believed him, even though she would never admit it.

When her mother rose to get a glass of water, Charlie followed her and said, "He can get us into the camp. We have a real shot of saving those recruits...maybe finding a way to get them on our side so we can all go after the Patriots."

"I know," Rachel agreed steadily, her thoughtful gaze landing on her daughter. "Charlie?" She placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder and continued, "Don't ever tell him I said this, and I mean it. But I want you to know...that when Monroe was brainwashed and I was here with him, I could tell he wasn't himself. For the first time, I could tell the difference between Monroe and some twisted, murderous son of a bitch. That means...he _has _changed."

That was more than Charlie thought she would ever get from her mother on the topic of Monroe. It wasn't an admission of approval for their love, or a declaration of pardon for Bass' past crimes. But it was a tiny, precious clue that suggested maybe she wouldn't have to lose her mother in order to be with Monroe. She took this gift for what it was and treasured it instantly.

Charlie went with Monroe to his house on the other side of town, and as soon as they were inside, the words he'd held back came spilling out.

"Charlie, I'm so sorry," he began, regret choking his voice as he stroked her bruised arm. "I don't even know where to start. Everything you did for me-"

"-Was only a result of what you did for me. For my mom," Charlie replied, finishing his sentence. "If you hadn't traded yourself to save our lives, you wouldn't have gone through any of this. I owed it to you to save you back. And I wanted you back. I need you." The rest of it tumbled out easily enough. "I love you."

Unable to resist a moment longer, she kissed him fervently, relief flooding her at the warm, newly familiar sensation of his full reciprocation, his tenderness surrendering to a passionate need as the kiss deepened and he backed her against the wall, both of them gasping for air, drowning and still trying to sink ever deeper.

Charlie sighed as he slid her jacket from her shoulders, the one that used to be his. Her arms extended upward with no hesitation as he removed her tank top and applied his burning mouth, his insatiable tongue, to her upper body. She wrapped herself around him, tearing his shirt to one side, unbuckling his belt, urging his pants down impatiently.

"I love you, Charlotte," his voice reverberated in her ear as he blinded her with the pleasures of his attentions. She gave herself over to him with an ease that still startled her after all the months of resistance, of self-denial, that had characterized their relationship for so long. And as she had known it would be, having him back was worth every ounce of suffering she'd endured when she had feared she could never be here again, bound to him in every sense of the word, feeling his devotion for her pound into her very being, elated and powerful.

Strewn across his bed later, she propped herself up, letting her hair spill over his chest. "Do you remember what happened when you were...not you?" she asked quietly, needing to know, to understand where he had actually been in that time.

"Bits and pieces," he explained, running his hand up and down her spine. "I felt like I kept seeing you every now and then, knowing it was you, and then I would get knocked back down and _he _would take over again. It was maddening. Then there were the dreams..."

"What were they about?"

"I killed you. In every dream. Every night. And something in me couldn't stand it, even though it was what I'd been programmed to desire most in the world...to kill all rebels, especially the Mathesons. It ripped me apart, Charlie. I guess maybe that's part of what made me wake up, return to myself, for real. Their plan was fatally flawed because it relied on my being able to stop loving you." She let his words fall over her, basking in this proof of the strength in their connection, what it could overcome.

"So it wasn't my little striptease that got your attention?" Charlie wondered, a teasing smile playing about her lips.

"I seem to vaguely remember something like that," Monroe said with a sexy laugh. "You always did look good soaking wet." Her eyes widened and she raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Like that night I pulled you out of the frozen lake," Bass recalled.

"I thought you were only focused on keeping me warm so I wouldn't freeze to death," she teased, remembering the fierce tug of war between them on that night, before they had admitted their feelings to each other.

"My intentions were noble," Monroe insisted. "But it's not my fault you're..._you_."

"Right back at you," Charlie grinned, rising to straddle him as he looked up at her in blatant arousal.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked.

"Not_ that_ tired," Monroe replied smoothly, and they both laughed again in the sheer, unadulterated, mesmerizing delight of being together once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Several weeks later...

Monroe hoisted the last of the day's unconscious recruits into the wagon and then climbed up top to sit beside Charlie, who had the reins. They'd put a plan into motion, with the help of Miles, Rachel, Gene, and some other rebel sympathizers in Willoughby. Even Connor had reluctantly been lending a hand, though he wasn't speaking to Charlie or his father. Repeatedly hitting the recruit camps at random times in completely different ways on each occasion, they had stolen more and more young victims of the Patriots' brainwashing, intending to relieve them of their reprogramming and return them to their true selves. Once awakened, some recruits were eager to run for the hills and try to start a new life somewhere. But the majority of them wanted to stay and fight the Patriots, helping others like them along the way.

The irony was that by showing kindness and mercy, Monroe had finally masterminded himself a new army that was tough as nails, mad as hell, and ready to go head to head with the Patriots, completely trusting in him as well as Miles and Charlie for the right reasons.

"Let's get them home," Charlie said, referring to the makeshift, yet effective, hospital they'd set up in Willoughby, across a series of basements in the town's larger buildings.

"Home...that sounds good," Monroe smiled, keeping one eye trained on the recruits who lay sleeping in the back, in case they popped up and started to attack. Still, he could slide closer to Charlie and press a kiss to her forehead, massaging her neck soothingly with one strong hand.

"You're making it sound appealing," Charlie replied, relaxing into his touch. "What did you have in mind for after we get these guys settled?"

"You'll see," he answered huskily. Taking him in, his wildness never gone, never tamed, but instead redirected to a better life, a better purpose, Charlie never ceased to be amazed. His bright blue eyes shone with affection and excitement, even after a long, exhausting day of recruit wrangling. After spending so much time in the past seeing him as an untouchable, forbidden, distant and infamous figure, being here with him now was singularly strange. Monroe was real, and he was hers.

"What's this?" Charlie asked, bringing the horses to a halt and rolling her eyes in annoyance as their journey was interrupted by a group of roadside vendors standing in their way.

"Might as well multitask," Bass suggested, jumping down to urge the vendors to get out of their path while also picking out some food to bring home from among their baskets and bins. He reascended to sit beside her and offered her an orange, a coy reference to one of their hate-flirt arguments from before they had been together.

"Thanks," Charlie said slyly, letting him drive as she peeled the fruit, its tart sweetness a hydrating and refreshing relief.

When they got home, it took a couple of hours to get the recruits into their new quarters. Through trial and error they had learned that the young soldiers had to have the codes on their eyelids activated, bringing forth their false beliefs and willingness to kill indiscriminately on Patriot orders. Only once the codes had been spoken, once the recruits were fully engaged in their enforced personas, could the effects then slowly begin to wear off. None of the recruits had been able to break_ themselves_ free of their haze of Patriot obedience as Bass had. Most of the time, the rebels were looking at a month, minimum, before the dreadful effects of the recruits' brainwashing wore off on its own. During that time, it was up to the town's rebel faction to keep the angry, violent youths sheltered and nourished, a dangerous but worthwhile task to carry out.

By default, without having a conversation about it because there was no need to discuss the obvious, Charlie had simply moved in with Monroe about a week ago. That evening, she took a bath and threw on her jeans and a heather gray, long-sleeved t-shirt, grateful as she stepped outside for the slight relenting of the bitter cold winter as spring drew nearer. The sun was slipping down slowly as she pulled her favorite coat on and found Monroe standing with his back against a tree, looking contemplative.

"Do you want to go into town and get some dinner?" she asked him softly, placing her arms easily around his waist and smiling up at him. He reached out to ruffle her damp hair, letting strands of it cascade outward in a half-wet tangle.

Leaning to whisper in Charlie's ear, he said, "No" quite simply and pulled her closer.

Letting her body mold automatically into him, Charlie grinned, "Why not?"

"I'm busy," Bass replied, slipping his hand under her shirt and stroking her back before capturing her lips in a deep kiss as his fingers moved to caress her breasts, drawing forth a gasp from Charlie as she retaliated by reaching for his belt.

"No bra, Charlotte?" Monroe asked teasingly. "What did you think was going to happen out here, anyway?"

"You're about to find out," she replied breathily, drawing him to the ground where accommodating, rich green grass had sprouted in just recently. One all-consuming kiss led to the next, making Charlie's head spin even when her passion reached its peak and centered her in its world-stopping clarity. Monroe was too intense to be borne, an agonizingly exquisite addiction she thrived on with all she had.

Raising her chin reluctantly from his chest and looking around, Charlie chuckled, slightly fearful at the realization of their impetuousness. "Lucky no one saw us," she said, rolling back to retrieve her underwear and jeans.

Monroe sat up, still shamelessly lustful as he watched her, unconcerned with any chance passer-by. "It's fairly secluded here. And I'm still not exactly Mr. Popular. You were my only visitor, but now you live here," he remarked with satisfaction.

"But also, you don't care," Charlie observed, admiring to some extent his ability to let go of concern for the outside world.

"True," Bass confirmed. "Anyway, we've been caught before. The world didn't end."

"No," Charlie allowed, tossing his clothes at him and sitting back down next to him, raising her eyebrows in criticism.

"Alright, so that wasn't a barrel of laughs," Monroe noted, laughing anyway at the memory of being found in a compromising position with Charlie by Miles a while back. "But I wouldn't change a thing. You're perfect. It's all been worth it."

"I'm not perfect," she chortled, "and you know it."

"I see no evidence to the contrary," Bass argued with a twinkle in his eye, grabbing her hips and bringing her back to a straddling position on his lap. "Even though you _are_ a troublemaker. Who blames me for all the trouble."

Charlie couldn't argue that, so she just stroked his cheek with one hand and kissed him lightly. "I'm really hungry now," she announced, taking his hand and pulling him up with her.

"Let's go eat," Monroe agreed, yanking on his t-shirt and then looking around with some concern for the long-sleeved button-down shirt he'd worn over it.

"This is nice," Charlie stated admiringly, pulling the dark blue shirt on over her own top and rolling the sleeves up. "Maybe I'll steal this from you and add it to my collection, along with your coat."

"No, I need that," Bass insisted with uncharacteristic urgency, stepping forward to reclaim the garment, slight worry flashing in his eyes.

"What's the big deal?" Charlie laughed, suddenly noticing a slight weight in the front pocket of the shirt. She fished one finger in and drew out a small, shining object that immediately caused her eyes to widen and her jaw to drop. "What's this?"

"It's _mine_, that's what it is," Bass said briskly, gesturing her to place the item in his hand at once.

"This doesn't look like it would fit you," Charlie murmured, turning it over and over again. "It's pretty. Sort of feminine, too."

"Fine, fine," Monroe grumbled, plucking it from her fingers, "I'll tell you all about it. But you ruined the surprise."

"Why so self-conscious?" Charlie asked, her heart starting to pound in her chest as theories darted across her awareness.

"Because it's a big deal," Bass confirmed, stepping very close to her and holding the object back out towards her. "You wanted to know what it is? It's an engagement ring, Charlotte."

"Wha-why?" Charlie stammered, staring at the modest, yet lovely ring that he was now offering her back, almost as though it was automatically hers now that he had explained.

"Why do you think?" Monroe said, seemingly torn between frustration at her prying hands and eyes, as well as nervous excitement. "I want to marry you, Charlie."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"You're crazy," Charlie sighed, overwhelmed as she stared at the ring that Monroe was holding out to her.

As if this was some sign of encouragement, Bass grinned and asked, "Do you wanna see how much crazier I can get?" He dropped to one knee and took her hand, saying "Charlotte Matheson, will you marry me?"

Charlie froze. There he was, the most absurdly complicated man in the universe, putting aside every iota of pride or ego he'd ever had to lay his destiny at her feet. It was inconceivable to try and equate the Monroe she saw before her now with who he'd been as head of his Republic. It was just as impossible to see herself as the revenge-fueled girl on a vendetta who had since become a woman capable of accepting and effecting redemption in her worst enemy. But it was all true and they'd both come so unfathomably far.

Bass' eager, unrelenting gaze tore away all of her defenses, the little voices whispering in her ear about her family's reactions to such a decision, how this might ruin what little progress she'd made in getting them to accept the relationship. Even the fact that she'd never really been a marrying kind of girl in the first place, not having been especially impressed with the examples life had presented her of the institution.

"I-" the word caught in her throat, choking her, and she caught herself up short again, rooted to the spot where his eyes held her spellbound. Could she spend the rest of her days falling further into that interminable blue gaze? What would happen if she answered yes? Or no?

"C'mon, Charlie," Bass encouraged, "Not that embarrassing myself for you isn't always exhilarating, but you mind letting me off the hook here?"

Charlie took a deep breath and looked around, taking in the peaceful evening, with stars beginning to dot the blackening sky above them. The formerly lonely house, detached from all sense of community with the neighboring town, now filled with warmth and happiness neither of them would have thought possible back when they were hell-bent on smothering their feelings for one another until the end of time rather than expose their vulnerabilities by admitting them.

"Yes," Charlie said in a louder voice than she'd intended. To hell with everyone else in the world. As Monroe stood and slid the ring on her finger, then scooped her up and spun her around in a blissful circle, Charlie knew that he _was _her world.

"Where did you get this ring?" Charlie asked, holding her hand out in disbelief.

"I bought it from those vendors on the road today," Bass explained. "There was a little old lady selling jewelry, and this caught my eye. I know it's nothing fancy, but maybe someday I can get you a better one."

Charlie smiled at the simple gold band with a tiny diamond embedded in the middle. "No. I love it. It's perfect." It suited her decidedly un-fancy tastes and represented something much more important than finery.

"_So_, you distracted me with that orange," she observed, remembering that she hadn't been watching him all that closely while he was gathering supplies earlier, since she had been minding the recruits in the back of the wagon.

"How long have you been thinking about this?" She had a million questions.

"About proposing? Since the moment I realized how I felt about you. Ages ago. I was going to set up more of a romantic moment to do it, though. You little thief." Monroe was staring down at her hand too, dazed as if he also couldn't believe this was really happening.

"How was I supposed to know?" Charlie shrugged teasingly. "And I don't think anything could have been more romantic than this," she added more seriously. And she couldn't quite believe how the word "romantic" now rolled easily off her tongue, after living her whole life expecting to never really find that old-fashioned concept of love.

"I thought I was totally doomed before I met you," Bass recalled, pressing his forehead to hers. "And I deserved to be. Doomed to never find happiness, and resigned to have everyone I loved constantly taken from me. Once I fell for you, I thought it was just another version of that. I thought you'd hate me forever and I'd be stuck loving you from afar, doomed again."

"Well, you were wrong," Charlie whispered, kissing him tenderly.

"Yes," Monroe agreed. "First I had to realize that I'd spent a long time being wrong about most things. And even though I hadn't earned the right to love you, I still could. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you."

"The rest of our lives," Charlie repeated, liking the sound of it more than she ever thought she'd like _anything_. What had happened to her cynical disdain of monogamy? Her dismissal of committing to anything when deadly battles were cropping up at every turn, and it could all be lost at any moment? Now it seemed that no risk was too great as long as she could have Monroe. Her entire outlook on life had shifted, just as his had, because of the effect they had on each other. It was, and felt, incredible.

"It's lucky you find me so irresistible," Bass murmured, never so sexy as when he was boasting.

"Oh,_ you__'__re_ irresistible, huh?" Charlie laughed, "What does that make me?"

"I'll show you," Monroe announced, sweeping her off her feet again and carrying her inside to the bed.

When they finally got to town for dinner, the bare-bones eating establishment was sparsely populated. Charlie and Monroe sat mostly inattentive to their food, their hands clasped across the table like a couple of infatuated teenagers. She couldn't help musing that amidst all of his badass attitude and track record, there were those insane moments when he was downright _cute_.

"What are you smiling at?" Bass asked, taking a bite of potatoes without releasing her hand.

"I'll let you wonder about that," she answered slyly, her eyes turning from flirtatious to guarded when she noticed Miles and Rachel walking in. But she didn't let go of Monroe's hand or try to conceal the ring. They'd have to deal with this eventually, so why try and delay the inevitable?

Rachel just nodded to them and went to order food for herself and Miles, "to go," Charlie mentally predicted. Yet even her mother's lack of blatant animosity towards Monroe was such a huge step that she slightly dreaded the consequences of Rachel's learning about the engagement.

"I can't believe that _you two_, of all people, are so PDA-happy," Miles quipped by way of greeting, pausing beside their table. "What's happening to the universe, anyway?"

"Maybe we learned from the best," Charlie suggested, implying that seeing Miles' affection for Rachel had been an influence.

"Yeah, talk about the pot calling the kettle—" Bass began, but Miles cut him off.

"Don't finish that sentence, you idiot," Miles said bluntly, squinting down at Charlie's hand. "What in God's name is _that_?"

"What does it look like?" Bass replied, non-plussed.

"It looks like you two are even more deranged than I thought," Miles noted tartly, grimacing and rolling his eyes as the full realization hit him. "Great. Just _great_. Rachel is going to kill both of you."

Miles' attitude suggested that his primary reaction was annoyance at the drama that was probably going to erupt shortly. Charlie didn't think he seemed that upset about the engagement itself, which she notched as a small win in her mind.

"Don't joke about that, Miles," said Monroe blithely, "there was a time when she definitely would have, and tried to, murder me."

"I'm not joking," Miles retorted with a hollow chuckle. "Good luck with this."

Although Miles would never admit it, when he placed his arm snugly around Rachel's shoulders and guided her out of the eatery, Charlie suspected that he wanted to give herself and Monroe one night to enjoy their new engagement before all hell broke loose. She nodded to him in thanks when he glanced back over his shoulder at them, but Miles merely rolled his eyes again in response. Charlie smiled in strange contentment at her crazy life.

"She'll find out soon enough," Monroe observed.

"True," Charlie agreed, "and we'll deal with it."

"Right. So, should we discuss wedding plans?" Bass asked with a grin far more mischievous than the question required. Only Bass Monroe could make a conversation about wedding details seem so alluring.

"I have no clue how to do any of that," Charlie admitted. "Can we just make it simple? Do it here in town?"

"Fine with me," Monroe agreed easily, "but there's just one thing I'm not backing off on."

"What's that?" she asked, sitting back and crossing her arms in humorous anticipation of his requirement.

"You are wearing a _dress_. A real, genuine wedding dress," Bass insisted.

"Oh, come _on_!" Charlie complained, but relented when he raised his eyebrows, sticking to his guns. She sighed heavily. "Fine. Suddenly, dealing with my mom doesn't seem like the hardest part about this."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

A few weeks later, Charlie stared at herself in the mirror as she adjusted the simple crown of wildflowers that was pinned atop her otherwise freely flowing hair. Against habit, she also glazed her mouth with a light coating of gloss made from honey and beeswax, and then she stepped back to take in the whole effect from various angles. The dress had been a gift from Joan, the local shop owner who didn't get to sell many un-sensible garments these days and was overjoyed at the chance to contribute to a real wedding.

Charlie had been swept away rather willingly by Bass' desire not to wait around too long before tying the knot. His enthusiasm was more than contagious.

The gown was the most simple one available, white with spaghetti straps split into two thin ribbons grazing Charlie's shoulders. It had a snug bodice and a skirt that fell straight down with two pretty layers of white, the top one sheer. Thankfully, there had also been a pair of plain, flat white shoes that matched, allowing Charlie to evade the indignity of wobbly heels to accompany her wobbly emotional state.

She didn't know why she was so nervous. She looked fine. Nice, even. And it was just a small ceremony out in a field near Willoughby, with only Miles and Grandpa likely to show up as guests. Sure, she'd spent her whole life assuming she would never get married, because what was the point. And yeah, she'd spent a considerable chunk of time loathing and even plotting revenge against the man she was about to join her life to. The same man she now waited to see with baited breath every day, the fervor of her need for him never lessoning, making her realize it had been there underneath all along.

Then there was the matter of Rachel, who had been sullenly despondent since learning of the engagement. She hadn't lashed out or tried to stop them. Rachel seemed to simply accept that her daughter's mind was made up, however she might hate the idea of who she was marrying. There was something about that which made Charlie so sad, but she couldn't see a solution.

Okay, so Charlie _could _actually understand what was making her so nervous. It was everything. But even though the combustive emotional mixture that characterized her life falling for Monroe made her feel on edge, it never made her waver.

"I like the dress," Rachel said very quietly, slipping into Charlie's room and regarding her daughter's reflection as their eyes met in the mirror.

"Thanks," Charlie replied frankly, surprised to see her mother at all on this day.

"I brought you something," Rachel announced, holding up a thin, blue-beaded necklace. "It's your something old and blue. Been in my family for years."

"It's beautiful," Charlie murmured, clasping it around her neck. "Thank you." Turning around to sit on the bed, she asked, "Mom, why are you doing this? I know how you feel about me marrying Monroe."

"Yes, you do," Rachel said with a short, harsh laugh, crossing her arms and sitting beside Charlie. "But that doesn't mean I stop loving you. I may be ninety-nine point nine-nine percent sure that you're making a huge mistake. But I'd like to try and put my faith in that tiny sliver of a chance you _might_ be happy, and at least try to make my peace with this."

"Thank you," Charlie said again, tears filling her eyes. She felt her heart tremble as the comfort of these words washed over her. Of course, she could never expect Rachel to welcome Monroe into the family with open arms. The mere idea was laughable and absurd. But at least there could be peace between them, and at least she didn't have to go to her own wedding thinking that her mother was made irretrievably miserable by her choice.

When Charlie got to the field and saw Monroe standing there in an actual suit with a tie, her breath caught in her throat. Were they really doing this? Was this actually happening? And how was it humanly possibly for anyone to ever look quite as good as he did right now, gazing intensely at her, taken aback by the sight of her in the wedding dress?

It wasn't that she couldn't say no to Monroe. That wasn't why Charlie was here. Contrary to her mother's paranoia that exposure to Monroe would twist Charlie's soul until it was as dark and amoral as his behavior had once rendered him, Charlie was too strong to be manipulated by anyone. The truth was that she _wanted _to say yes to him, whole-heartedly, wanted to run to him rightnow and throw herself into his arms, reminding him repeatedly that despite his regrets and self-hatred for all he'd done in his past life, she wanted him. She loved him, now and forever. She had no desire to resist this impulse to promise him what she longed to give to him freely and eternally.

Bass' double-take over her appearance in the dress seemed to last a long time and was still in effect when she stood before him. The steps to get there, each one a further confirmation of this immense change she was about to go through, seemed to go in slow motion.

"You look amazing. I can't believe you're really here," Monroe whispered.

"You don't clean up so bad yourself," Charlie replied, unable to conceal the way he took her breath away right back. "And what, did you think I wasn't serious about all this? That I might not show up?"

"I just can't get over how lucky I am," Monroe explained, clasping hands with her.

"Well, it's been quite some time," smiled the local preacher, "But I think I remember how to do this."

Standing to one side were Miles and Gene. Grandpa's expression just showed reluctant resolve and a waning amount of patience with this event, and Charlie knew he was only there to support her since Rachel was absent. Miles, on the other hand, was as awkward as could be, constantly tugging on his tie and shifting from one foot to another, clearly smothering at least a million grumbles about the ridiculousness of this marriage, while working just as hard to avoid showing that he was happy for them in the least. Charlie didn't know how much longer Miles would be able to pretend he still had no faith in Monroe, but she saw right through his act and gave him a wink to let him know. Miles grimaced in a gesture of denial to her unspoken suggestion and Charlie smirked.

The words that she and Monroe repeated after the preacher were easy enough to get her head around. But as they uttered their vows to always be together despite all of life's trials, Charlie felt as if she was outside her body listening to herself speak. This was a surreal experience. All of these promises were ones she had devoted herself to instinctively and without a second thought since Bass had been taken and brainwashed by the Patriots. That was the catastrophe that had brought the full force of her devotion to him into perfect clarity in her mind. So the words were nice enough and completely true, but the expression of total adoration in Monroe's eyes had her so transfixed that she could just about concentrate on the ceremony.

"I'm glad no one wanted to throw us a reception," Bass said into Charlie's ear after they had kissed with a great deal more chasteness than they would if they were alone. They turned hand in hand to walk away.

"You're happy that no one was in favor of this marriage except you and me?" Charlie replied, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. Surely Bass was too vain to enjoy his lack of popularity.

"No," he admitted, stroking her knuckles methodically, a low-key gesture that nonetheless got her heart pounding in anticipation. "But, since this _is _the case, it means I don't have to wait much longer to let you know precisely how I feel about you in that dress."

They were interrupted by Gene, who approached to say a terse "Congratulations" and then strode off homeward. Miles lingered a minute longer and remarked, "Well. _That _happened."

"Is that all you've got to say, Miles?" Bass laughed. "Come on, aren't you going to wish us the best and all that?"

"I don't know," Miles said, forcing a sullen expression that seemed comically at war with his true inclinations. "I guess I hope you two can make it work. That doesn't make it any less weird."

"Thanks, Miles," Charlie chirped lightly, giving her uncle a big hug. Miles melted easily into the embrace, saying "congratulations" in a low enough voice to show his intent of only giving Charlie the satisfaction of hearing him say it. But Monroe grinned behind them, having caught onto Miles' thought process.

"I'm gonna go…be somewhere that isn't here," Miles announced. He shook Monroe's hand and shook his own head in equal measure before leaving. Soon Charlie and Bass were left to wander alone in the field, as the grass blew gently to and fro in the placid early spring breeze.

"Well, here we are, Mrs. Monroe," Bass observed, making Charlie's heart jump at being called this for the first time.

"Here we are…husband," Charlie replied, wrapping her arms around Monroe's neck and kissing him passionately.

"So _that_'s what you were holding back at the end of the ceremony," Monroe noted, smiling his approval. "I wish I could take you away somewhere," he added a moment later.

"Like a honeymoon?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, Charlotte, like a honeymoon. I want to give you the world, but all I have is…" He shrugged.

"You," Charlie pointed out. "All I want is _you_." She lifted his hand, indicating the wedding band that he now wore. "I like this."

"You like that I belong to you now, huh?" Monroe grinned. "Well, guess what, it's nothing new. We just made it official."

"I like that too. Now come on, let's go home. There was that whole discussion we were going to have, right?" She couldn't wait to rip that handsome, dignified suit right off of him.

She linked her arm through Monroe's like a real, old-fashioned newly married couple ready to take on the world. And they were ready to do just that…not that their way of doing it would ever be ordinary. Their journey would include taking down the Patriots piece by piece and saving as many recruits as possible along the way. They were partners now in every sense of the word.

Charlie was filled with more than just excitement for the life she would lead with Monroe. She was infused with a completely refreshing sense of that ever-elusive quality she'd sought within herself for so long in vain: hope.


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue

The battle against the Patriots loomed large in the three years that followed. Eventually, despite the false "U.S." officials' onslaught of treachery and manipulation, despite their every revision to their tactics in attempts to counteract the rebel's retaliations, they failed. Charlie and Monroe fought alongside Miles and countless others to bring about a hard-earned victory. Somewhere amidst the chaos of this war, Rachel and Aaron combined their brilliant minds to switch the power back on, yet restricted the Patriots from accessing it. Aaron found a way to regain control of the nano, and his creations were more than happy to make tech an invitation-only deal. The governments of all the states in the former union were working together to rebuild a morally sound and effective structure for what would hopefully one day be a real nation again.

Willoughby had evolved in the time since the Patriots' last collective gasps from a bedraggled shell of a community to a thriving town filled with growing families. Charlie had worked with her own friends, family, and allies to help build upon all that potential they had always seen in Willoughby, and now it was more than a place to lay their heads at night before the next fight. It was home.

One summer day about a year after the war ended, Charlie stepped out onto her front porch with two glasses of lemonade in her hands. Monroe turned and took one of the drinks from her with an affectionately questioning expression. "You tried making it from scratch again?"

"I didn't _try _to do anything," Charlie retorted, "I did make it myself, from scratch, and it's going to be delicious and refreshing." She took a gulp and disguised the grimace she naturally wanted to respond with at the too-bitter flavor. The previous batch had been much too sweet.

"Well, at least," Monroe said, forcing a swallow down and placing the glass to one side on the porch rail, "_you__'__re _delicious and refreshing."

Charlie laughed and sat down slowly on the swing he'd built, placing her hand across her stomach and rubbing it instinctively. Bass sat beside her and wrapped an arm snugly around her shoulders. "I'll get it right next time," she ventured, determined to domesticate herself at all costs. Who said she couldn't be a badass warrior who could also cook a million fancy recipes and blend exquisite drinks of all kinds? Alright, maybe she was setting the bar a little high for herself. But having all this extra time that didn't need to be spent slicing her enemies to ribbons to defend a way of life...it was nice. She was enjoying every second of it.

"She's kicking," Charlie smiled, placing Monroe's hand on her belly and giggling at his astonished expression. Bass still couldn't believe they were really having a baby together, even though the pregnancy was getting pretty far along. He'd thought his restrained, yet definitely improved relationship with Connor would be his only chance at fatherhood, and that he'd been lucky enough to get that, _or _to be withCharlie, after all of his misdeeds. His inability to think he deserved it was at the core of his disbelief. But here was another piece to the puzzle of their happiness.

"What makes you so sure it's a girl?" Monroe asked playfully. He kind of hoped it was a girl, Charlie could tell, though they'd both be overjoyed with either gender.

"Mom said she carried high like this with me, and lower with Danny," Charlie remarked. Her words made that storm drift back into Bass' expression, the one that never really left altogether. His guilt for the pain he had caused her family was a constant threat to his ability to forgive himself and accept this new lease on life that he had with Charlie. The past could never be erased, but it could be healed from, even if it took a lifetime. They'd spend that time together, and that was the important part.

"Your mom actually _spoke_ to me the other night," Monroe said after a long silence. "I almost choked on my dinner."

"Miles almost fell off of his chair," Charlie recalled with a snort. "What did she say? 'Will you pass the salt?'"

"I think she's just messing with me now," Bass theorized.

"That's a good sign," Charlie pointed out, elbowing him affectionately.

"Hey, when are you going to stop stealing my clothes?" Monroe asked, flicking his finger over the white button-down shirt Charlie wore.

"As soon as you stop liking it so much," she answered blithely.

"So, never," Bass said. "Soon I'll have nothing to wear."

"Promise?" Charlie placed her hands on the wooden seat of the swing for a moment. "You know, I think this swing is crooked."

"I know," he replied, shrugging. "It's about as good a swing as your concoction over there is lemonade."

"We don't know how to do normal things," Charlie observed.

"What, swordplay and gunfighting aren't normal? Wait, I _know _sarcasm and mockery are normal, and no one's better at that than us."

"Except Miles," she corrected. "Well, anyway, we'll learn normal. It's almost time to build the crib, you know."

"I'm afraid of all those little pieces. I can't tell where they go," he admitted, unabashedly humbled by this simple task.

"We'll figure them all out. But first, tonight, I'm going to make us a chicken casserole."

"Oh, God. Please don't," Monroe pleaded.

"What?" Charlie inquired archly.

"I said, 'that's great.' I'm gonna stay out here for a while and fix the swing."

"Please don't. You'll probably make it _more_ crooked," Charlie couldn't help predicting.

"Whatever, Martha Stewart. You're such a know-it-all."

"That's what makes me so sexy to you," Charlie suggested, standing and intertwining her fingers with her husband's, drawing him up in front of her.

"Charlotte Monroe, you don't know the half of it," Bass murmured seductively.

"Let's fix the swing and build the crib and try that new recipe tomorrow," Charlie said, stepping into his arms and kissing him suggestively.

"Sounds like a plan," Monroe replied, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her inside.

Maybe the swing, though revised many times, would always be a little off-kilter. Charlie's casseroles were notoriously well-done no matter how many times she tried different approaches. And Miles had to help Monroe build the crib while they cursed at each other for hours. But all of those reasons and more, all of those flawed little pieces, were exactly what made everything so perfect.


End file.
